


Running Late

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Chubby Dean, Clothes Ripping, M/M, buff Castiel, tummy worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: Cas hummed, kissed the swell of Dean’s belly and pushed it in with his face, rubbed the scratch of his stubble over the skin and breathed warmly against Dean’s dick.“I like this,” Cas said, “you’re so soft.”





	Running Late

Hanging the powder-blue towel up on the hook fixed to the back of the bathroom door, Dean ran a hand through his wet hair and cracked the door open to get rid of the steam. He swiped a hand over the fogged mirror and considered the scruff on his jaw. Another day without shaving would be fine. Leaving damp foot-prints down the creaky hardwood floor hallway to their bedroom, Dean picked a pair of jeans and a faded black tee out of his dresser. Tossing the t-shirt onto the bed, he stepped into his jeans.

Dean had to wiggle to get the jeans up, but that was probably because his skin was still a little wet from the shower. Leaving the button undone, he grabbed the deodorant off the high, plain dresser that was cluttered with a few watches, Cas’ reading glasses, a precarious stack of paperback books - the sort of miscellany that gathers on flat surfaces.

Dean kicked open the closet door; the old cracked-silver lined mirror affixed to the inside of it was kind of grimy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten out the windex. Maybe it was just the early morning sunshine coming through the windows that made it stand out more. Or maybe it was Dean’s annual spring cleaning fever coming on that Cas bitched and moaned about.

Setting the deodorant back down, Dean flexed his arms. Still thick and heavily muscled from the grunt work he did around the garage. But he might be a little softer than usual around his waist. It was the normal winter padding, the five pounds or so he put on with holiday food. Of course, he never got rid of it throughout the year, so those few pounds had been adding up.

Dean pat his belly, squished it between his hands, and if he squinted a little and turned in the sunlight he could see silvered stretch marks crawling up his hips. Huh.

Time to button up, finish getting dressed, and get breakfast on. Might have time for omelettes if he stopped staring at himself in the mirror. Oooh, and there were fresh button mushrooms in the fridge, too.

The jeans didn’t want to cooperate, and as Dean twisted around struggling to get the zipper up, he caught a side view of the denim stretched tight around his wide thighs and his ass. God. What a fucking ass.

Dean stopped trying to wrangle his pants shut and turned his ass to the mirror, craning to look over his shoulder. No wonder Cas has been palming and kneading him more lately. There was a lot of ass there. Dean reached around and grabbed himself, squeezing through thick denim. There was a lot of give. The way his skin folded at his side as he twisted around seemed to be a deeper crease, more pudge rolling. 

The front door opened with the loud squeak of old hinges and Dean startled. He could hear the jangle of keys and scuff of Cas’ sneakers on the tile floor. Jumping like a teen caught with their hand on their dick, Dean scowled at his still open waistband and sucked in his gut trying to close it.

“Dean?” Cas called down the hallway.

Yeah, Dean was usually in the kitchen getting breakfast together or scarfing down bakery muffins when Cas got back from his morning jog.

Huffing, slightly breathless, Dean could feel the heat in his cheeks when he called out, “In here!”

Cas appeared at the door, red-faced from working out, sweaty hair spiked up and earbuds dangling over his shoulders against his broad chest. The gray shirt was dark with sweat in a vee down from his neck, spreading out under his pits. Sweat dripped down his face as he swiped with the back of his arm at it, staring at Dean. Who was still shirtless, and still unable to close his goddam pants.

“Running late?” Cas asked.

He’d kicked his shoes off at the kitchen door - that was a hard rule for Dean, no shoes past the front mat - but Cas had to stoop to pull his socks off, flinging them in the hamper at the foot of the bed as he stepped into the room. His feet were pale under the sock-lines, hard muscled and hairy calves tanned by the sun up the long stretch of his legs to those tight running shorts. God, he had thighs Dean wanted to be smothered between.

Dean could smell the sweat on him, the outdoors. Not that there was much outdoors in the city but it still pinged some primal part of Dean’s brain.

“Nope,” Dean said. “Not really.”

Not running late because he couldn’t get his pants on and definitely not running late because he got distracted by his own ass.

Giving up on the jeans, Dean decided to shove them off and try another pair. Bending forward to push them over his thighs, there was the distinct, sharp noise of fabric tearing.

“Goddamit.”

Dean straightened up, took a deep breath. He could feel where the pudge of his inner thigh was trying to break free through the new tear.

“I don’t think those jeans fit.” Cas said.

“Thank you, captain obvious.”

Cas stepped into his space, hands settling on Dean’s hips and squishing the fat that overspilled his jeans. Dean hummed, leaned forward for a kiss and he could taste the salt of sweat on Cas’ lips as he slid a hand up to rest against the steady pulse at Cas’ neck.

More patiently than Dean, Cas tugged the jeans down an inch.

“I think I’m gaining weight,” Dean mumbled.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Oh yeah?”

Cas’ reply was a rumble against his mouth, teeth snagging on Dean’s lip.

Dean sighed and spread his fingers up through Cas’ hair, dragged his hand down the firm muscle of Cas’ back to palm his tight, perky fucking ass.

Pulling back, Cas told Dean, “I like it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, pressed his soft belly forward, “Yeah, but it means I have to go shopping.”

Cas gave a short, thoughtful hum and said, “We can go through the women’s intimates. Find a tiny pair of panties for you to squeeze into. I want to get one I can rip off with my teeth.”

“Jesus.”

Now Dean was getting hard in his jeans, dick struggling to fill with no room to go.

“Do you think I could rip these off?”

Cas’ fingers curled under the waist of the jeans, hands balling into fists pulling them even tighter that they dug uncomfortably into fat and squeezed Dean into funny shapes.

“Fucking seriously? Jeans?”

Nodding, Cas sunk to his knees. Leaned forward to kiss the roll of Dean’s stomach pushed high over the open waist of the jeans, rubbed his cheek over the two layers of fabric between him and Dean’s dick.

“Yeah, shit, fucking do it.”

Sliding his hands down Dean’s thigh, fingers spanning across him, Cas found the ripped hole on the inside seam and teased around it. Dean couldn’t help holding his breath, biting his lip as he looked down at Cas, one hand still settled on the back of Cas’ head. Cas elbowed Dean’s bow-legs wider, slipped fingers from both his hands into opposite sides of the tear.

“Wait, wait.” Dean stopped him.

Frowning, Cas leaned back slightly. “What -”

“Take off your shirt first.”

Somehow, kneeling on the floor with his hands between Dean’s legs ready to literally rip his pants off, Cas could still look disgruntled. He sat back on his heels, hooked a finger in the back his shirt between the shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. Dean grabbed it and tossed it in the hamper.

Cas was fucking ripped. Not really show-muscle bulky, but thick and compact, he had a practical strength. And those fucking hipbones, even when he put a little winter weight on that sloped his belly, his hipbones managed to peek out.

“Yeah, okay. Keep going.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas found the rip in Dean’s jeans again.

This was much better. This way Dean could watch the muscle of Cas’ back bunch, pull tight at the shoulders, his arms flexing as he fucking tore Dean’s pants right down the seam with a loud rip. Holy shit. Dean could feel his fucking leg jiggle as the jeans ripped from the seam of his crotch down to below the knee. Swaying where he stood, he watched Cas grab under the crotch and keep right on going. Tearing a section at a time until they were hanging off Dean.

“Holy shit, that was hot.”

Mouth open, Cas looked up at him, pupils dilated and Dean got his hands on the waist of his underwear to shove them down, dick tapping up against the round curve of his belly.

Cas hummed, kissed the swell of Dean’s belly and pushed it in with his face, rubbed the scratch of his stubble over the skin and breathed warmly against Dean’s dick.

“I like this,” Cas said, “you’re so soft.”

“You don’t think I need to lose the weight?” Dean asked, wholly unconcerned and more interested in how close his dick was to Cas’ mouth.

“Why do you think I buy so much from the bakery Dean. I never eat it.”

“Thought you just liked spoiling me.”

“I really do.”

Heat flushed Dean’s cheeks, spreading down his neck, as Cas’ hands smacked over his hips, fingertips digging in. Cas pushed Dean towards the foot of the bed and knee-walked after him, sweaty skin squeaking on the floor. The old mattress was soft, dipping under Dean’s weight with a groan, buttercream yellow bed sheets still crumpled messily in the middle. Torn apart jeans still tangled around one ankle; he kicked them to the side.

Dean leaned back on his hands as he spread his legs and let Cas suck-bite his way up the insides of thighs to skim barely there kisses over Dean’s dick, lavishing the ample spread of his body with attention. He was damn near close to begging, not just because his toes were already curling with frustrated need, but because he did have to get to work today and he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He was just past the point of low simmering arousal that could be ignored and tamped down, heat blooming into need.

Maybe he could be fifteen minutes late. He didn’t have a lot of call-offs or late-shows.

Nudging the hamper to the side with a knee, Dean dropped his weight onto one elbow and stretched his other hand out to push at the unruly hair over Cas’ ear, curling with sweat. Cas turned his head, pressed his face into the cup of Dean’s hand and kissed the palm before turning back and finally putting that talented mouth of his on Dean’s dick.

“Yeah, come on sweetheart,” Dean crooned.

Shifting one foot up onto Cas’ thigh, Dean spread his knee out wide. He curled his toes into the hard sculpted muscle of Cas’ thigh, feeling it flex when Cas tensed, stroked down Dean’s leg and curled a hand around the back of Dean’s calf fondly.

Sunlight spilled across the room, window blinds unapologetically open although there was a gauzy white curtain Cas had found at a garage sale offering a modicum of privacy. Those little dust motes that shimmered in bright light shifted through a slanted beam that striped over the tan stretch of Cas’ back. He was always tan. Cas spent too much time up on the roof with his raised-bed gardens, and Dean had no idea why watering them took so long, but Cas liked to sunbath up there too in these godawful tiny athletic shorts he found in goodwill that probably came from the seventies.

Dean had no idea how he kept his dick in those shorts.

The pair he had on, that he had a handful of copies of for jogging, they were tight too but at least they went down to mid thigh. Finding things that stayed on his hips and had enough circumference for his thighs seemed to be a problem for Cas.

It definitely wasn’t a problem for Dean.

Spreading his fingers distractedly through Cas’ messy hair, Dean rolled his hips up lazily to meet the warm suck of Cas’ mouth, sinking down on him with slow heady pleasure. Cas’ hands roamed along Dean’s legs, over his hips and belly, squeezing and pressing in, pulling the skin tight and then squishing. Dean didn’t mind the way it dimpled, the way Cas did it almost too tight that it bordered on painful made Dean squirm, dick twitching, made him pant.

With a filthy wet noise, Cas picked up the pace, bobbing on Dean’s dick and drooling out of the corners of his stretched lips. Hands firmly gripped into Dean’s hips, blue-eyes squeezing closed like he was savoring it.

“Shit, sweetheart, m’gonna…”

Legs clutched against Cas’ broad shoulders, tension humming through him, Dean tangled a hand in Cas’ hair and pulled him back. Mouth open, tongue chasing after the head of Dean’s dick, Cas looked up at him and Dean had meant to make it neat but he came all over Cas’ sweaty, scruffy, sexy fucking face.

Cas licked his lips, shoved his shorts down and started jacking himself off between Dean’s thighs.

“C’mup here.”

Sitting up, Dean circled his arms around Cas’ waist and spread his hands against the small of Cas’ back. Opened his mouth, Cas holding his dick against Dean’s lips still jacking it off. Dean licked around the crown of it, pressed a kiss on top and closed his lips around the head as Cas finished, come pooling on his tongue.

He just had a shower, and he had to get to work. No way was he spending five minutes scrubbing splooge out of the stubble he didn’t shave this morning.

Huffing, Cas stepped back, firm chest rising and falling and Dean could watch that all day. Instead, he reached across the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser to pull the little wicker wastebasket towards him, spit into it and swiped the back of his hand across his face.

“Man, what am I gonna wear to work?”


End file.
